Uh, yeah! But I had to think of a way to be in touch without him calling the house. I asked Tati if he could call her and leave me a message. She looked at me as if I’d totally lost it, but agreed anyway.
Jason took my hand, pulled me off to one side. “Okay if I kiss you?”
I’ve kissed a boy or five, but none has ever asked if it was okay. That surprised me, and so did the kiss. I expected a soldier’s lips—rough, harsh. But his were gentle, at least at first, and it might have stopped right there, except I wanted more. It was me who moved toward urgency, not that he complained.
Truthfully, instinct drove me. His lack of demand pushed me forward, as if I had something to prove. And when he responded as men do, or at least as much as they can in a public place, I felt vindicated. More than that, I felt desirable.
And since I got home, I’ve been carefully considering how Sergeant Jason Baxter might fit into my escape plan.
Ariel
I Don’t Get a Car
For my birthday.
I do get a couple of cards.
Monica gives me one
at dinner. On the front
it shows two girls holding
hands, getting ready to go
down a giant waterslide,
and it says: FRIENDS DON’T LET
FRIENDS DO STUPID SHIT ALONE.
Inside, she wrote: Let’s do
something stupid together.
Te amo, Monica.
Dad follows that up with
one of his own—a generic
birthday card decorated with
pink roses, and too few candles
to accurately represent the day.
Inside is a twenty-dollar bill
and: Roses are pink, money
is green. I can’t believe my
little girl is seventeen.
Happy birthday. Love, Dad.
PS: Don’t spend it all in one place.
Dad’s Lame Attempt
At humor is not amusing.
Twenty bucks wouldn’t buy
a movie with popcorn and Skittles.
I suppose I have to give him credit
for treating Monica and me to
a post-dinner flick, no popcorn
or Skittles included, unless I want
to spend the twenty. That’s cool.
Syrah comped our dinner, with
sundaes for dessert. Mine had
a candle, and there was singing.
So I’m full as we walk into the theater,
which is pretty busy. Not surprising
considering it’s Saturday night. What
is surprising is Dad doesn’t go in.
You girls have fun, he says. I’m going
out for a couple of beers with Zelda.
I’ll pick you up after the show.
Excellent! He’s not mad at Zelda
after all. “You have your phone,
right? In case I need to remind you.”
Aw, come on. I only forgot you one
or two times. More like a dozen
over the years, but why argue?
I Pick a Horror Flick
About a girl who gets called to babysit
for strangers, clueless that the adorable
little boy’s in serious need of an exorcism.
Of course the house is at the end of a road
in an unpopulated area, surrounded by
dark, scary woods, and when she finally
finds enough sense to run, she discovers
the giant creepster trees could use the help
of a good priest, too. It’s one of those movies
where you’re expecting stuff to happen, but
when it does it makes you jump anyway.
We sit way in the back, with no one behind
to bother us, and during a particularly tense
scene, Monica snakes her fingers into mine,
pulls my hand against the taut muscles
of her belly. Beneath her shirt, her body
is warm, and the connection is comforting,
and this feels so right it makes me sigh
contentment. At the sound, she unknots
our fingers, allowing hers to softly explore
the skin on the back of my hand. Back
and forth they travel, inviting mine to
reciprocate. And just as I do, the kid on
screen grabs hold of his babysitter’s foot
and starts to drag her backward toward
the leering house and our hands fly up
in response, and after we scream
we both bust up at our over-the-top
reaction. I believe that’s what people call
a mood breaker, and I’m fine with it
because I’ve got no idea what to do with
what just happened between us. Every
small movement was saturated with
importance. But what does that mean?
Another question looms even larger.
Where, oh where, do we go from here?
To Start With
We go home.
Dad’s even out front
close to on time, no
reminder necessary.
It surprises me,
but what doesn’t is
the smell inside the car,
which just about knocks me
over. Amazing
how much beer he
must’ve consumed
in the last couple of hours.
He looks a little
unsteady, and Monica
seems unsure, so I offer,
“Hey, Dad. Want me to drive?”
Hells to the no.
If you messed up
and your friend got
hurt, I’d be held liable.
Flawed logic.
Just who’d be held
liable if he messed up
while driving a little tipsy?
Tipsy or not,
he’s not changing
his mind, so I sit in back,
wishing Monica and I could
hold hands
or maybe attempt
something more. Now I
wonder if she’s ever tried
something more,
and if so, with whom.
We’ve never discussed it,
for whatever reasons, but since
I’ve lived here,
she hasn’t been with
anyone else, at least not
that I’m aware of. I do know
she’s not out to
her family. No, she said
when I asked. Mis padres
wouldn’t understand, or accept.
Yet she accepts
herself just as she is,
doesn’t try to hide from
the truth of who she is inside.
I Want to Be
That sure of the truth of me.
I feel like I’m teetering
on the edge
of semi-certainty,
which is pretty
much meaningless.
But I’ve got lots of time
to figure it out, so for now
I’ll resign myself
to enjoying the research.
When Dad pulls up in front
of Monica’s house,
I jump out to claim shotgun.
Totally aware of spying
eyes nearby, Monica and I
exchange an awkward good-bye.
“Thanks for the card.”
I wink. “Let’s do something
stupid together soon.”
Monica smiles. How stupid
can we get? You better think
about that. Happy birthday,
novia. She turns and motors
on up the walk, calling over
her shoulder, See you mañana.
In the Car
Dad’s singing along
with Garth Brooks.
&nb
sp; His voice carries a hint
of the twang that has almost
disappeared with time
and distance from his home state.
When he starts a slow cruise,
I ask, “Do you ever miss Oklahoma?”
He keeps humming
for a second or two, but
finally answers, Not much.
I left a lot of bad behind
there. Nothing in Oklahoma
but pain and worry, and that
includes your grandparents.
Boom. He never talks
about Pops and Ma-maw—
that’s what they insisted
I call them. “Do you ever hear
from them?” I’m not aware
of any communication.
His hands tense
on the steering wheel,
and his jaw juts forward.
Every once in a while.
Look, Air, there’s no love
lost between them and me.
Not sure that’s true.
Ma-maw griped about Dad,
but affectionately, at least
from what I can remember.
It’s been a long while
since I’ve seen her.
“What about . . .”
I don’t know if I’m allowed
to ask. Ah, why not?
“What about your brother?
I mean, don’t you want
to stay in touch
with any of your family?”
You’re my family, Air.
Besides . . . He trails off,
then continues. Okay,
I never told you this because
it didn’t seem important
for you to know, but Drew
was killed in the line of duty
a few years ago. He was a damn
good cop, but he messed up
bad that day. Never assume
someone with their hands in the air
isn’t concealing a weapon.
Uncle Drew
I can scarcely picture him, and what
surrounds the memory is the smell
of tobacco on his fingers when he held me.
“Of course it was important for me
to know, Dad! You and I have always
been so isolated. So insulated.
And you’re the one who kept us
that way. I’d like to think I have family
outside of just the two of us.”
Family is a recipe for heartbreak,
Ariel. A recipe for heartbreak,
he repeats, louder, for emphasis.
We’re almost home before I finally
find the courage to ask the question
that prickles on every birthday.
“Do you suppose my mother’s missing
me today? Not that I really care, but
do you think she wonders about me?”
I expect his usual barrage of expletives.
Instead, he sits quietly for several
long seconds. Finally, he sighs heavily.
You know, sometimes I ponder
that. When you first came along,
Jenny seemed like such a good mama.
My Jaw Drops
I
am
blown
away.
I can’t remember
him saying one
nice thing about her.
He hardly ever even
mentions her name.
“Really?”
I hope I didn’t sound
too eager. But I know
nothing about my babyhood.
It’s not something he discusses,
and he doesn’t have
a single picture of me
before the age of three.
Yeah. Jesus, did she
have me fooled! You know,
I’ve been with a lot of women
in my time. Enjoyed the company
of ladies near and far.
But Jenny was the only one
I ever let myself love.
I’ll never make that mistake again.
The Confession
Materializes from inner
space, so unrecognizable
it’s totally alien.
And yet it makes Dad human.
“You were in love with my mother.”
The simple declarative sentence
pushes Dad over the edge.
Goddamn straight. Why
does that surprise you?
“I don’t know. I just never
heard you say so before.”
I had to pretend she meant
nothing, or lose my mind.
She used me. Played me.
But even if I could’ve gotten
past that, I’ll never forgive
her for screwing you over.
Not one goddamn word in all
these years! Too damn busy playing
bushwhacker with her girlfriend.
Bushwhacker?
No comment. But now I have
to hear the story again.
I pretend to listen, catching
snatches (ooh, bad word in
context here) of his recitation:
. . . from deployment, no one
there to greet me.
. . . got home and Jenny
says she’s moving out.
. . . in with her girlfriend. Girl.
Friend. She left me—and you—
for a goddamn dyke!
. . . out the door, not so much as
a good-bye kiss for her baby girl.
How could a mama do such
a vile thing to her child?
I’ve asked myself that very
question many, many times,
invariably after Dad repeats
the tale. Usually, he’s two sheets
into the wind, and today he’s
at least a sheet-and-a-half-way
there. How can he drive like this?
It’s Nothing New
Of course, and for the most part
we’ve been lucky. I mean, considering
the miles we’ve traveled, oftentimes
with him drinking either before we got
into the car or even after we were on
our way, most of his beer-fueled faux
pas were relatively minor. There was
one time I can barely remember. I couldn’t
have been older than three. It wasn’t
long after we first started road tripping.
Dad let me sit up front, where I was, for
sure, not safe, despite the fact that his car
was too old to have air bags. Luckily,
it was equipped with seat belts. Thankfully,
I was wearing mine when he swerved
to miss something in the road, overcorrected,
and skidded off the highway, rolling us
down a muddy bank. We landed on the tires,
and Dad was drunk enough to start laughing,
even though he’d broken bones in one arm
and one leg. Except for peeing my panties,
I was totally fine. But we weren’t going
anywhere, not in that wreck. Which is
how we came to live with Leona, who
witnessed the entire incident and stopped
to ascertain the extent of our injuries.
Funny, but I can see her face peering
into my window as clear as water, and
I can make out her razor-voiced words.
Everyone okay in there? I’m a nurse.
The details blur after that, but Leona
helped us out of the car, noting Dad’s
extremities. You stay right here. Don’t try
to get up. I’ll go call for an ambulance.
Ah, no, we don’t need that, insisted
Dad. Give me an ACE Bandage
, I’m good.
Mister, you’ve got a couple of hellacious
fractures. ACE Bandages won’t fix those.
But don’t you worry. We’re a long way
from town. It will take them at least
an hour to get here. You should be
sobered up by then. You ought to know
better than to take a chance hurting
your beautiful daughter. I’ll be right back.
Dad wanted to protest, but he couldn’t
stand on his leg, let alone climb back up
the embankment. I remember hating
the way I felt, wearing pee-stinking
clothes. But when Leona returned,
she confirmed the ambulance was on
its way before locating clean undies and
pants in the car, and helping me into them.
By the time the EMTs came scrambling
down to the rescue, Dad had realized
he’d be staying in the hospital for
a few days. What about my little girl?
I don’t know why, but Leona volunteered,
If you can trust me, I’ll take her home.
Everyone at the hospital knows who I am.
These guys right here can vouch for me.
They Could and They Did
Besides, Dad didn’t really have much
of a choice, so he said why not. Leona
was nice—she even took a couple
of days off work so she could care
for me—but I cried and cried,
terrified I’d never see my daddy again.
I clung to him and begged to stay
right there in the hospital. Promised
I’d be very good. I’d already lost
my mommy. What would happen
if Daddy didn’t come back? Leona pulled
me into her lap, stroked my hair, soothed
my fears with the motherly touch
I must’ve been missing. After enough
time absorbing Leona’s kind attention,
I said okay, she could take me with her.
Mid-hysteria, something meaningful
must’ve passed between Dad and her,
something a little girl wouldn’t realize,
because after surgery to repair
his damaged limbs and a couple days
recovering in the hospital, Dad joined
me at Leona’s place, which is a bare-bones
sketch in my memory. It was small, but
I got my own bed, and I remember
the sheets smelled sweet citrusy,
like Ma-maw’s lemon meringue pie.
There were trees outside the window